


Green in judgement, cold in blood

by Nyssareen



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AO3 Writers Facebook Group, Melodrama, thesaurus overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 21:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16273049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssareen/pseuds/Nyssareen
Summary: Jack discovers that Rose is as cold-blooded as they come.





	Green in judgement, cold in blood

**Author's Note:**

> This was born from a prompt by Sacha McConnon on the AO3 Facebook group "write a quick story that starts with someone eating a salad." Somewhere along the line, I decided that my thesaurus needed a workout, so I ended up with the most elaborately worded, ridiculous little story ever. The title is from Shakespear's Antony and Cleopatra "...my salad days, when I was green in judgment, cold in blood..." Just another little bit of silliness I had to add. I hope you at least get a chuckle out of it :D

Jack Harkness walked into a scene of pure carnage when he entered the galley.

Rose Tyler held a fork to her lips with a piece of his love speared on the glittering tines. Viscous burgundy coated her lips which she licked off, languidly and looked at him over the fork with heavy-lidded eyes. Jack stood rooted to the floor, unable to believe the savagery of his friend, until desperation forced him into action. Crossing the room in an instant, he tore the fork from her hands and flung it across the room; carmine gore defaced the walls as it clattered to the floor. His capacious hands engulfed her slender shoulders and he shook her violently, sending the bowl crashing to the floor.

“Oh my god! What are you doing?!”

The bowl spilled its grisly contents across the pristine floor and Jack sank to the floor at Rose's pale feet, surveying the rubicund remains of his love. Lachrymal droplets formed and slid down his cheeks, unchecked but Rose looked on with callous disregard for his anguished lament. Heedless of the stains left on his ivory shirt, Jack clutched the florid scraps to his chest and continued his jeremiad wail.

“We had plans… such plans... “

Turning a recriminatory eye on his companion, he held the carmine remnants up to her, pleading.

“What am I going to do now, Rose? What am I going to do now?”

Unable to contain his agony any longer, he brought the sanguine scraps to press against his lips and whispered, softly.

“Goodbye, my love… Goodbye.”

Rose stood, crunching the ceramic shards of the bowl, mercilessly beneath her feet. Her voice was icy as she chided him.

“Oh come on, Jack, there is more salad in the fridge. What’s wrong with you?”

Jack got to his feet and followed her to the fridge, whining.

“But, Ro-ose, you finished off the last of the French dressing!”


End file.
